


The Aftermath

by elytra



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Violence kink?, post-fight adrenaline, whatever you'd call being really into your partner kicking someone's ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elytra/pseuds/elytra
Summary: Reiner catches Bertolt's eyes; his brows raise in interest. By this point, the aftermath of a good fight is more of a when than an if for them, and Reiner's already tallying everything he wants to do to him as soon as he gets him home.“You look like shit,” Bertolt finally remarks.“All for you, baby,” Reiner says with a sly grin.--From an AU where R+B are hitmen, of sorts.





	The Aftermath

“Don't think he'll be giving you trouble anymore,” Bertolt says coldly as they step into the dark alleyway. “I'll drive back,” he adds, slipping his black jacket on with the casualness of a couple headed home from the grocery store.

“Little shit sure put up a fight though, eh?” Reiner replies, tossing him the keys to the Bentley before wiping at his mouth. He's sure he looks rough. Busted lip, at least a couple bruises. He takes a lot of the hits for Bertolt – he'd take,  _ has _ taken, in fact, a bullet before he let someone damage that perfect profile – but Bertolt, too, has seen better days. Not all of the blood is his, though.

They walk in silence til they reach the car and slide into the soft cherry-red leather seats – luxurious  _ and _ harder to make out the stains on. Bertolt turns and right on cue, Reiner hands him his driving gloves from the dash. These, too, are fine leather, black with red accents, a gift from Reiner on a chill winter when they were still cramming themselves into a much smaller Mercedes.

He pulls them on, but his attention is still on Reiner. He studies his face, and Reiner does so in return, each taking stock of his partner's wounds, his mood. Reiner catches Bertolt's eyes; his brows raise in interest. By this point, the aftermath of a good fight is more of a  _ when _ than an  _ if _ for them, and Reiner's already tallying everything he wants to do to him as soon as he gets him home.

“You look like shit,” Bertolt finally remarks.

“All for you, baby,” Reiner says with a sly grin.

The kiss that follows is forceful, and through the coppery taste of blood Reiner can read his every sentiment. A sharp s _ hut up  _ that softens into _ you know you're right _ and a bit of  _ thank you.  _ They're well-practiced in the art of nonverbal communication.

Before the soreness of his lips even registers, Reiner's distracted by Bertolt's breath hot on his neck, by the way he steadies himself with a hand on Reiner's thigh to trace his neck with the tentative sort of kisses and bites that promise so much more to come.

“H-hey, I'm not gonna make it home at this rate,” Reiner gasps, body tensing as his partner nips at his ear playfully.

Bertolt pulls back slightly to give him a mischievous look. Reiner knows what this means, too.  _ That's the point. _

“It's not often work gets so personal,” Bertolt replies. His voice is low, his words careful, deliberate. Perhaps Reiner's just weak, but Bertolt could say just about anything to him in this tone and bring him to his knees. The gloved hand he's slipping under his loosened shirt isn't helping, either. “Let's take your mind off things, yeah?”

Truth be told, Reiner doesn't want to. Nothing's hotter than Bertolt at his fighting prime, flexible, fierce and calculating. Nor the confident look in his eyes he's got right now that says he knows just what's on Reiner's mind. No one would ever expect any of it out of quiet, cautious Bertolt, and  _ god _ does that just turn Reiner on even more.

“Don't think that's possible,” Reiner replies. “You – I – Bert, what can I say? You were fucking hot back there.” Bertolt shies away for just a moment, but Reiner can see him pulling himself back into confidence. He bites at his lip, considering something, and locks his eyes back on Reiner's.

“Oh?” he asks. He's pushing for elaboration.

“Don't act like you don't know,” Reiner replies, turning away. Their hottest, most passionate sex was  _ always  _ after roughing someone up (or worse). Maybe he'd never said it, but he didn't  _ need _ to.

“Maybe I don't,” Bertolt purrs, nonchalantly pressing the seat controls to slide the passenger seat back and down. He climbs into Reiner's lap – not the smoothest of movements, given the length of his legs or the troublesome clutch between them, but Reiner has no intention of complaining. “Tell me.” He waits, his hands at Reiner's waist.

“You know I'm not good with words.”

Bertolt doesn't budge, making it clear he'll go no further if Reiner doesn't play along.

“Alright, fine,” Reiner concedes. “You're a kinky son of a bitch, you know that?”

“And you aren't? What were we discussing, again?”

Fair enough.

“I... was about to tell you how good you look kicking someone's ass. Like, that thing you do with your knees? Jesus.”

Bertolt smiles satisfactorily as he begins to unbutton Reiner's shirt the rest of the way, painfully slow. Reiner knows he can feel the pressure of the bulge in his pants beneath him; he's surely savoring that, too. He looks up at Reiner as he finishes undoing the last button.  _ Go on _ .

“And this time? You really didn't hold back.” Reiner shivers as Bertolt rewards him with gloved hands passing over his muscled torso, with leather seams rousing his nipples. “Kind of made it hard to focus, how hell-bent you were on teaching that fucker a lesson. And-- ah!”

He gasps as Bertolt slides his tongue up the center of his stomach. He tenderly bites and sucks across the line of his ribcage, hands working the muscles on his hips, careful to avoid any fresh bruises – but not  _ too _ careful. Reiner's hands instinctively move to Bertolt's waist, but he pushes them back down on the seat, as though he expects Reiner to get him off with words alone.

“Seeing you do this shit, babe, god... I'm never quite sure if I wanna pin you to the wall and suck you dry or have you push me to the ground and fuck me right there.”

Reiner feels Bertolt's cock twitch at his vulgarities. If it's hard to keep his hands off him when they're at a job, right now it's just about impossible. Still, he knows Bertolt's games, and disobeying him will only prolong his frustration.

He knows he's made the right decision when Bertolt starts to undo his belt. The gloves seem to make it a little tricky, but nothing would feel fast enough. Reiner's aching for his touch, and his slacks are getting painfully tight.

“Please, Bert,” he groans.

Soon, Bertolt obliges, rising to a kneeling position to work Reiner's pants and briefs down past his thighs. He turns his gaze to Reiner's thick, hard cock, gingerly brings his fingertips to it, and then, ever so cruelly, he waits again.

“Fuck, what else do you want me to say?” Reiner pleads.

“Doesn't matter,” Bertolt responds, “But  _ please _ don't stop.” There's a hint of desperation in his voice now, as though Reiner hasn't given him a choice. If he weren't pinned to the passenger seat, Reiner thinks, he'd end this himself. Bertolt may be strong, but not enough to keep Reiner from flipping him over, roughly stripping him and grinding against him desperately with his teeth sunk into his neck--

He's brought out of his fantasies by his partner leaning forward to suck at his collarbones, giving him just enough attention to goad him into continuing.

“Bertolt, I can hardly think anymore, please, fuck. It's – it's everything, how strong you are, your fucking  _ legs _ , that look in your eyes. I just... I want you, Bert, I  _ need _ you. Please.”

With that, Bertolt lets out a small satisfied groan and starts to stroke him, the ridges of his gloves pleasingly catching on his head. Reiner leans into his touch, rocking his hips. It's not enough. He needs more, more – and Bertolt is letting go.

“C'mon baby, this is cruel even for you,” Reiner cries, but he looks down to find Bertolt backing down onto the floor beneath him. It's a tight fit, but he makes it work. He carefully pulls Reiner's legs up- one over his shoulder and another resting on the door, a shined oxford hooking into its panel. Reiner's slacks wrap behind his back, effectively holding him in place.

Bertolt doesn't make him wait long before taking him into his hand again and circling the head of his cock with his tongue. Reiner's hands grasp at the sides of the seat; it's all he can do to keep it together as Bertolt works him over with his soft, wet mouth. He's as zealous as ever, his hands tightening their grasp on Reiner's shaking thighs as he runs his tongue along his length. Bertolt sucks at the base of his cock, earning him a pleased groan from Reiner, but then tenses. He pulls back, and Reiner quickly realizes that there's blood running down his swollen lips, a freshly healed cut having been torn open. Bertolt licks at the wound, causing Reiner to shiver again.

But before he can even think to suggest an alternative, Bertolt's mouth is on his cock again, this time taking him in. Reiner moans as he starts to bob his head, taking more of him in each time. Before long, there's a mix of blood, drool and precum dripping down, and that combined with the hungry look in his eyes might be a new contender for hottest thing Reiner's ever seen. Without thinking, he grasps Bertolt's hair in his hand, but Bertolt is too focused at this point to make an issue of it. If anything, it goads him on, and soon he's worked the entirety of Reiner's cock deep into his throat. Reiner is close, so painfully close, and it's knowing what Bertolt can handle that leads him to tighten his grip and rock his hips sharply, fucking Bertolt's mouth til he's coming hard inside him.

He loosens his grip and can feel Bertolt swallow before backing off slow. He's a mess; he already was, but worse now, disheveled hair, lips wet with no less than three body fluids, teary-eyed and panting hard. Reiner would hardly believe this is the same man who had just walked away from a fight so coolly, except he's seen him like this before. Seen that same look in his eyes, too, exhausted, pleased, but desperate for his own release.

He gestures to Bertolt to come back up into his lap, and he manages, though he's shaky. Before Reiner can decide how he wants to return the favor, though, Bertolt grabs his hand and presses his palm against the bulge in his pants.

“Please, just, I'm so close already,” he pants, and though he's surprised by the request, Reiner could never refuse him.

“Just one thing, babe,” Reiner replies, fondling him through the fabric. “You gotta tell me how it feels to watch me break bones.”

“Fuck, Reiner,” Bertolt moans, grinding into his hand. Reiner knows this above almost anything about Bertolt - he's weak to his own tactics. “So good, you don't even know. Please.” Reiner's stroking him harder now, and his whole body is shivering.

“You touch yourself like this thinking about it?”

“Only a thousand fucking times,” Bertolt admits. “But this is – so much better, ah--”

“Maybe next time I won't let you make it to the car,” Reiner murmurs, and Bertolt shudders and groans, cum soaking through the fabric of his slacks. He collapses onto him, breathing hard, and Reiner gives him a tender kiss on his temple.

“Here,” he says, wiping at his face with the fabric of his shirt. “Don't think these stains are coming out as it is.” Bertolt is quiet, curled against his chest, and while his legs can't possibly be comfortable it seems cruel to make him move just yet.

Reiner laughs softly, stroking his hair.

“I think maybe you should let  _ me _ drive home.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> no bonus points for figuring out who they've beaten the shit out of


End file.
